


I Get Off On You Geting Off On Me

by ItsYuhBoi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Lance (Voltron), M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation in Shower, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 04:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16032935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsYuhBoi/pseuds/ItsYuhBoi
Summary: Lance has no idea what’s going on, what he’s doing, what the hell this means. But he’s certainly not going to stop.





	I Get Off On You Geting Off On Me

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song "I Get Off" by Halestorm.
> 
> I have two more chapters planned out for this, but with how crazy life's been lately, I can't say when I'll be able to next update.

Lance bends over, resting his hands on his knees, panting hard. He dabs at his sweaty forehead with the back of his gloved hand. “Ugh, I’m dead.”

Shiro chuckles and reaches out to tousle his hair. “You did great today, Lance. You’ve really been improving at close quarters combat.”

Lance looks up. Shiro is smiling down at him, looking proud and maybe even a little bit fond. His hair is slightly mussed and his breathing is heavy with exertion, but overall, he hardly looks worse for wear. Not for the first time, Lance wonders how someone can be so perfect. It’s a little ridiculous.

He straightens up and grins wide, rubbing at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous gesture. He can’t help it. Whenever Shiro praises him it makes him feel uncharastically shy. It makes him feel hot inside, ties his stomach into knots. He knows he’s got it bad. And he’s pretty okay with it, even though he knows that, realistically, he hasn’t got much of a chance. But it doesn’t stop him from hoping, from imagining.

“Yeah, well, that’s only because I’ve got a pretty badass teacher.”

“Hey,” Shiro rests his hand on his shoulder, “don’t sell yourself short. You may not have raw strength, but you’re quick and you’re good at thinking on your feet, adapting to the situation. You’ve been working hard, and it shows.”

Lance isn’t really sure how to respond to that at first. He wishes that they were still wearing their armor, because the feel of Shiro’s hand on him is distracting. The heat of it burns through the thin material of his undersuit, feeling like a brand. He can make out all the strong, defined lines of Shiro’s muscles, all the little dips and curves, his suit leaving absolutely nothing the imagination. It’s so stupidly tempting to just reach out and touch him, run his hands over his broad shoulders, his hard chest. He shakes his head slightly, trying to dispel the thought.

He realizes he’s been staring and not saying anything for a little longer than what’s considered socially acceptable. His grin goes bashful. He feels his face flush and hopes that Shiro thinks it’s because he’s still cooling down from training. He meets Shiro’s eyes. His gaze is soft and so, so, sincere.

“Thanks,” he says, more quietly than he meant to. “And thanks for staying late to help me out. I know you’ve got important leader-y things to be doing.”

Shiro lets out a small laugh. “It’s no trouble, Lance, really. I don’t mind spending time with you. I feel like we don’t know each other as well as we should, and I’d like to fix that.”

How can someone be so legitimately, genuinely kind? He cannot be real. He can’t. It’s impossible.

He’s a bit thrown off again. Because an incredibly nice and attractive man actually wants to spend time with him. Even if he just wants to be friends. How is this even happening?

Lance swallows hard. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Shiro gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze before dropping his hand. They stand there for a moment longer, not saying anything, Shiro still smiling softly at him. Lance needs to end this conversation before he says something embarrassing, like confessing his undying love and unquenchable thirst.

He clears his throat nervously. He makes a show of sniffing himself and recoiling in mock disgust. “Whelp, I’m gonna hit the showers, I reek, and I need to wash my face ASAP. Wouldn’t want to end up with clogged pores.”

Shiro laughs again, deep and unrestrained. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

Lance gives him a two fingered salute and makes a hasty retreat.

 

* * *

  
After a quick trip to his room to retrieve his toiletries and a change of clothes, he makes his way to the showers.

Lance steps into a stall and closes the curtain behind him. He places his toiletries on the shelf and peels himself out of his undersuit.

The moment the water hits his skin, he lets out a long sigh, the tension in his muscles loosening. He washes himself and when he’s finished, he closes his eyes and leans his head back into the spray. He thinks about his conversation with Shiro. Shiro doesn’t mind spending time with him. Shiro actually wants to spend more time with him. Shiro wants to get closer to him. He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. He knows he’s reaching hard. He knows Shiro only wants to be his friend, but he still can’t help but hope. Just a little. Lance slumps back against the wall. He remembers the thrill of being so near to Shiro as they sparred, hand to hand, getting in close. He remembers Shiro’s big, warm hand on his shoulder.

Lance shudders, feels the stirrings of white-hot arousal in his belly. His cock twitches and starts to harden when he wraps his hand around it. It’s wrong, he knows it is, to be thinking about Shiro as he touches himself, to be thinking about his friend like this. But he can’t help it, he can’t help the way that he feels. He can’t help how badly he wants. This isn’t the time or place, anyone could walk in. Shiro could walk in. Just thinking about it makes him throb. He hisses through his teeth as he tightens his hold. This is a spectacularly bad idea. But he needs this. Needs it now.

He thumbs at the head, feeling slickness as precome starts to gather at the tip, moaning as he cups his balls with his other hand. The water is streaming over him in thick, sweltering rivulets, steam enveloping him in balmy clouds; the heat is compounded by searing arousal. Lance starts to stroke himself, slow and sensuous.

The locker room door whooshes as it slides open. Lance freezes, panicking, heart pounding away in his chest. He hears footsteps, long purposeful strides. Lance knows it’s Shiro. Of course it’s Shiro.

He needs to stop.

But he doesn’t. He can’t. His eyes squeeze tightly shut as he starts moving his hand again. The pace is quick this time. He jerks himself off with harsh, frantic pulls. He moans before he can stop himself, loud and drawn out. There’s no way Shiro doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing. He feels embarrassed, mortified, ashamed. But he’s so turned on that he can’t make himself care enough to stop.

Shiro’s footsteps falter and then halt abruptly. “L-Lance?” He asks, voice quiet.

Lance doesn’t respond. He pretends not to hear and his hand speeds up. Lewd little noises spill out from the back of his throat without his permission.

He hears footsteps again, quieter than before. He thinks that Shiro must be leaving until he realizes they’re getting closer, not further away. Shiro is standing right outside of his stall now. Lance can hear his soft, muffled breaths. He briefly wonders if he’s hallucinating, if he took one too many hits to the head during training, because this cannot be happening, this can’t be real.

But it is. Shiro is just beyond the curtain, listening to Lance jerk off. And from the sound of his heavy breathing, he actually likes it.

Lance has no idea what’s going on, what he’s doing, what the hell this means. But he’s certainly not going to stop.

He rubs at his balls again. He takes his hand off of his cock and drags it up his torso until he reaches his chest. He cries out, mouth falling open obscenely, as he pinches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then teases at the other, alternating between them.

He works up the nerve to open his eyes the littlest bit, peeking through his lashes. He sees Shiro staring at him from the small gap between the curtain and the wall. He has a hand covering his mouth, trying to keep quiet. For a moment, their eyes meet. Shiro’s eyes go wide and he stops breathing. Lance realizes that Shiro’s afraid, terrified he’s been caught watching.

He shuts his eyes again, pretending not to have seen. He keeps touching himself, keeps rubbing at his chest, keeps panting and groaning. Shiro’s watching. He’s watching and what Lance feels is… it’s thrilling. He feels powerful, in control. He’s never been so turned on.

His hole clenches at nothing. He wants more, wants to be stuffed full. He wants Shiro’s cock, but he’s too afraid to ask, afraid to break this strange spell they’re under, so his fingers will have to do.

This will probably never happen again. He decides to really give Shiro a show, to show him things that he’ll never be able to forget. Lance turns around to plant a hand on the wall, spreading his legs. He hears Shiro’s choked gasp when he reaches back with his other hand to rub his forefinger over his hole. He circles around the tight furl of muscle and then dips his fingertip inside. He needs… there! He grabs his bottle of body oil from the shelf beside him, pouring it into his hand. He smears it over his entrance and his fingers. He leans his upper body against the warm tiles, reaches back to spread himself open with one hand, making sure Shiro will be able to see, before sinking a finger in. He sighs. It’s good. He loves this feeling, loves the sensation of something inside.

He waits a moment, adjusting. Spreading his cheeks wider, he draws his finger out before thrusting it slowly back in, setting a slow, leisurely pace. He slips in a second finger beside the first, scissoring them, savoring the slight burn as he stretches himself. Lance thrusts in as deep as he can go, gasping when he finds his prostate. He presses and rubs, making little noises of pleasure with each pass of his fingers. He could come just from this, from his fingers alone if he wanted to. He wonders if Shiro would like to see that, he thinks that he probably would. When he knows he can take it, he slides in another finger, picking up the pace.

God, everything about Shiro is big. His broad shoulders, his thick muscles, the wide span of his hands. Lance thinks that his cock must be too. He pushes in a fourth finger, stretching himself wide, letting out a high, breathy wail. He wants Shiro to see how much he can take. He wants to show him how easy it could be.

He pretends it’s Shiro inside of him instead of his own fingers, fucking him hard and deep up against the wall. He can feel Shiro’s eyes on him and it makes him shiver and whine. He thrusts in as fast and hard as he can, the wet slap of skin echoing against the tiles. He groans out Shiro’s name without thinking. For a moment, he’s scared that he’s gone too far, that Shiro will realize Lance knows he’s been watching and run. He strains his ears, trying to listen past the steady beat of the water against the tile, the slick squelch of his thrusting fingers, the furious hammering of his heartbeat. He sighs in relief when he hears Shiro panting, more loudly than before.

Lance starts rocking his hips back to meet his fingers. He’s so damn close. His arm is getting tired and his fingers feel close to cramping. His legs start to shake. He scrabbles at the wall in front of him. He keeps hitting his prostate, again and again. Almost there. The heat inside him builds until it’s spilling over. He’s hit with a wave of intense pleasure. His hole spasms and pulses around his fingers. He sobs and whimpers as he comes and comes and comes. Harder and longer than he ever has before, thick spurts of it splashing against his stomach, against the wall.

He loses himself for endless moments, drifting, mind blank.

When he comes back to himself, he’s on his knees, slumped forward against the wall, aftershocks sparking through him as his hips continue to grind absently against his sore fingers in short, aborted thrusts. He pulls out before it starts to become too much, and shakes out his aching hand before turning around and leaning back against the tiles. His legs are jelly and he doesn’t even try to stand, lets himself slide to the ground. He closes his eyes, still breathing hard, feeling completely spent and bone deep satisfaction.

It takes a moment for Lance to remember that he has an audience. He opens his eyes as much as he can, barely peeking through his lashes. Shiro is still there. He’s got one hand covering his mouth and the other is palming his cock through his pants. And fuck, does Lance feel pleased about that. Suddenly, Shiro stiffens, letting out a quiet, muffled moan from behind his hand. Fuck. Shiro just came in his pants. He came because of Lance, and that’s equal parts incredibly hot and incredibly unbelievable.  
Lance’s hole clenches and his cock twitches, making a valiant but futile effort to get hard again.

Shiro swears and quickly darts out from in front of the stall, pausing briefly before fleeing.

Lance stays seated on the floor for a few more minutes, leaning his head back and smiling. He feels giddy, his stomach fluttery, churning with nervous possibility. He’s got a chance. He’s definitely got a chance, which is just. Wow. Shiro actually wants him. Him. Lance.

He pushes himself up, standing on boneless legs, ducking back under the water. He soaps up his washcloth and wipes away the remaining come from himself and from the wall. He shuts off the water and goes through his skincare routine before getting dressed.

He makes a break for his room, wanting to avoid running into anyone.

He sits on his bed. He needs to figure out how he’s going to do this. He’s never been very good at playing coy. A direct approach will be best. He decides to lay all of his cards on the table and hope for the best. He wants to do it as soon as possible, he knows that if he puts it off he’ll lose his nerve. He’s always been prone to self doubt. The less time he has to think about what could go wrong, the better. He glances at the clock on his phone. Dinner is starting soon, he’ll have to catch Shiro after.

He putters around the room nervously to pass the time. He rearranges the items on his desk, mostly small trinkets he’s collected from the planets that Voltron has helped. He smoothes out the sheets on his already made bed, fluffs his pillows. There’s not much else to do, he likes to keep his space tidy and clean. He crosses the room and dims the lights. He decides he likes them brighter, like they had been, and turns them back up.

He startles when Hunk announces over the intercom that dinner is ready. Lance stands for a minute in front of the door, shoring up his courage. He inhales a breath slowly and lets it out in a huff before leaving his room and making his way to the dining hall.

Dinner is definitely going to be awkward.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos and comment if you liked! And bookmark to be notified when the next chapter is posted.


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